Will anything cleanse? Will any shower take away my aligned markings? Will Dave's Noodles cure what ails? Will life remain the same and tinge me into a pure state of existence? Part Two drives without brakes.

Uh oh, yeah real fucking quickly.

The day saw nothing achieved, the early night saw the local bottle-o gain some more business as it’s back to the Odeon for Friday night’s affairs and the beginning of the final weekend of the festival. Tonight, Red Bull Music Academy are calling the shots centred around a special performance from Boredoms/Hannatarash leader Yammantaka EYE. Sydney Artist/Academic/Experimental musician Kusum Normoyle opens the evening and it is an appropriate exploration of sonic textures with a natural dark tinge to them. Following, Melbourne's Jake Blood offers a comparative background though routed far more firmly within electronica. His performance feels entirely cohesive and the production backing him is truly first rate, loud and clear. Though, what is loud? Is it frequency depth or pure db pumping from a PA system? We now come to EYE Circom six laptop stations are forged into a circle transforming the stage into what could be confused as a laneway party. Though nameless to the audience, talent fills each of these laptops while our conductor Yamantaka Eye is positioned in the centre perched upon an office chair and is the true mastermind on show. This is debatably the most experimental event on show here at Dark Mofo and is far more of an experience than a performance. To gain some form of balance a star lit projection is at the back of the stage and if you are deaf or become deaf during the performance it is a great gauge of the power being showed here. This is aural pleasure and punishment in one; it is executed without fault, with Eye conducting seemingly on feel as these laptop synths push the PA in similar fashion to that of Sunn O))) the previous year. Those not inclined to experimental music are won over as this simply demanded attention and left no one unscathed upon its conclusion. While they have never personally been a point of intrigue, rounding out the night My Disco deliver quite a solid set aided massively by the high end production in both the sound department (which is brutal) and the lighting which is an endless bath of red covering all. The band do still have that bloated cock-goth alt metal feel to them and at times things get a little pompous in a Spinal Tap style drum solo and endless needless guitar wankery, but damn, it just sounds bloody great and although overshadowed by EYE and they shouldn't be rounding out the night, My Disco do deliver a pretty enjoyable set despite being My Disco.

Hello old friend we meet again, different time same place.

Blacklist has already kicked off and is full upon entry following events at the Odeon and the heart of Blacklist Cassandra Scott Finn's Depravitiy of Man, A Monument of Truth is in performance mode with naked dancers contorting over the two level high rotating structure. The set up seems quite similar to the night before which while quality is a little disappointing when comparing to the constantly changing and debatably more secret Faux Mo to which it had formed. Though, the focus here is not what it seems as line ups still remain hidden. When the curtains next open, local kids come good Blank Realm are onstage and the audience gives quite the response to this. The set itself is the usual Realm slew of upbeat hits but watching the band cream themselves with excitement throughout the set is nearly as enjoyable as the set itself. They deliver which is nice to see, a bit of good time experimental indie psych thrown into the mix of what has been largely electronic inspired. The set is brief and these Hobartians know the newer material more than the classics but all that aside, it is a set owned and another hefty pat on the back for Blank Realm is due.

Then things get weird. This is the version I have told to friends…

When the curtains open back up a single DJ is on the stage behind some decks. A group of women dressed in white cloth, holding pieces of coloured cloth in each hand come right into the centre of the audience and create a circle amongst the crowd. They then proceed to go into a ritualistic interpretive-style dance in line with the DJ's relatively simple beats. They then reconvene the audience and split it into four groups; Gemini, Taurus, Sagittarius and I cannot remember the other. The DJ is still playing and they lead the audience through a chant/prayer style run of vocal lines. At this point I thought I had the point and went outside into the smoking kombi van (You smoke in this van if you can get in and a fog machine floods the van non-stop so you can’t see anyone. it’s pretty cool and what goes on sorry is secret mate!). I then enter back inside the DJ setup onstage had expanded onstage with an addition of a guitarist and mats have been laid down covering the venue and an endless sea of people are lying on the ground all wearing sleep masks. I decide to give this a go and time then forgets itself. The music in combination with the dead audience silence and the lack of sight becomes a highly sensual meditative experience and with all the talk of ASMR surrounding Blacklist this feels pretty close. The women from before are supervising the experience and one drapes a cloth over my body at some point, at another I receive what I presume is a form of blessing as words (presumably Tibetan?) are softly whispered into my ear. If you let this experience take you, it gets deep. Deeper than anything I have experienced. At points it gets too deep and consciousness and personal space/awareness are completely forgotten and it takes notable effort to snap out of this and the music somewhat allows this. You have to double check the performance is still occurring and people are still on the ground, or is it just you. Things peak and decline at points with the music, and at some point it is over. No one really knows what happened or how long it went for (my guess is roughly around an hour and a half?) but Blacklist. What an end to the evening!

It is kinda fucked that it’s Saturday, though the festival continues for a few more days tonight is the last night for the bigger events and yes, it’s fucked. If by this point you haven't been completely consumed by the festival then you must be some mainland arsehole that stayed home; that’s also fucked.

The final show at the Odeon is a bit different to what we have seen so far. London based queer art-pop collective The Irrepressibles are performing a one off Australian show bringing to life their electronic concept album NUDE with tailored visuals and stage show. Opening the night is the rather appropriate choice of Brous whom with full band in tow delivers a notably solid set. Her voice is in amazing form and despite being restricted from utilising the entire stage they make the seated room feel big yet intimate.

The stage opens up and covered by draping curtains from the ceiling, string players emerge and one by one The Irrepresibles take the stage and from the opening heart wrench it is clear that this will be a ride. Great attention to detail appears to be taken into account with the performance with every movement and lighting cue beautifully accentuating the performance. The atmosphere is slightly broken when the groups mastermind Jamie McDermott takes to banter in between songs and it is kind of sloppy and uninteresting, especially in contrast to the music on offer. He can sing better than he can talk, basically. The highlight sees barely a dry eye in the house (I'm sorry girls past, I really am!). All in all, it was an amazing performance, which was a slightly downer way to end the major musical events of the festival. *Note - The warning of strobe lighting during the performance wasn't really needed…

Back over at The Brisbane Hotel, No* Grimoire *Fo has reached its peak with both band rooms pumping with local and interstate acts while upstairs has been opened up with realms of artistic delights from the goon sack room (as the description suggests, it is a room full of 100's of goon sacks) to the punk silent disco to some more interactive rooms such as the drum room, and that room with the vacuum tubes rigged up to a light. You can be lost in these areas for hours and I was. Band wise, locals Naked kill it as per the norm delivering a set that explores old and some new ideas of the band while Newcastle's finest Whitney Houstons Crypt deliver a brash yet strangely accessible set of sweat drenched pun-k. This was almost a festival in its own right and unfortunately it was not possible to see it all. Bring it back next year Briso!

For one last time, it’s back to Blacklist. With all the other events transpiring on this final night. I arrive late at roughly around 1am and the aura of the event feels to be that of hungover. Though the place is packed, energy levels appear to be low yet pleasant and this translates to what is actually going down, which at this point seems to be not much. It felt that ol' Blacky would go out with a bang and be pumping well until closing to which I stayed with no events transpiring on the main stage or strange oddities to be found. It is a little disappointing but you can’t run on overdrive without the horse getting tired and its engine requiring coolant. Following Blacklist for those in the know, The Grand Poobah is the spot to go and it gets a little blank… Two rather talented DJ's are memories, people smoking a variety of items in the bar are another, nudity is common place and almost a dress standard and that piano in the foyer was entertaining. 9am’ish time to leave, t'was good I say.

The Sunday feels as if it was designed for a comedown and it’s all style despite the painfully cold weather. An addition to this year’s events down at the wharf Dark Park is a notable new feature a section of the Salamanca docks are taken over for what is essentially a series of art installations playing upon the senses. Anthony McCall's Solid Light Works plunges an entire warehouse into darkness and shapes of light are scattered throughout and going up to these beams of lights and running into others gives a strange vibe when you see others emerge drawn to the same source. Outside one of the most talked about features of Dark Park was Bastiaan Maris' Fire Organ - a huge mechanical type structure adorns a spacious field and as the name suggests is an organ operated through fire though it is not as active as one would think it is quite easy to get lost watching it being played and quite frankly it would have been amazing to be allowed an opportunity to have a play. The other hot ticket at Dark Park is the rumbling beast that can be heard throughout the docklands - Bass Bath. It was reported that lines upwards of two-three hours are expected to experience this literal bath of sound, courtesy of eight 2100 horsepower subwoofers and tonight was no exception. Despite arriving well before closing time and being allowed to join the queue by staff, I was later removed from the line after devoting a good 20mins and despite being a polite young gentleman willing to wait the obscene amount of time - logic and want just aren't taken into account in this situation and I come up empty handed and enjoy a dip of bass from standing by the wall outside. Can’t win 'em all and am assured by a patient friend that EYE's set was more of a rumble anyway.

The Winter Feast this year has expanded into a five day affair though the final night feels as if it is the perfect night to enjoy some of the best food and drink from around the country in one of the most beautifully dark dining halls kickin'. So here we go… Mulled wine - so many types and all stupidly delicious and warming, caramelised cider - ah yeah not a cider man but it works, mulled gin - phwah (typical Simpsons quote…) Hook it to my veins!, Ethiopian - tasty curries and got offered a good deal (the egg looking potato was weird though), Mexican - can’t ever go wrong really but dayum, donut shop - why'd ya sell out so quick!, fire pits - hook ‘em to my veins! And band playing the last shift outside - not my cup of tea but good on ya for getting down.

***Side Note*** On my way home I decide to visit Rafael Lozano-Hemmer's Pulse Column - the festival’s centrepiece. Situated roughly in the centre of Hobart, this endless tower of light into the sky pulsates to the heartbeat of that who touches it. I must be dead by this point as it works for everyone else but me… As I said before sorry ladies past, I do have a heart damn it!!!

Its 5.30am in the morning, I don't want to get up but I have to its the day of the Winter Solstice after all the shortest and coldest day of the year. I pull myself together and put on glitter (ha) stuck clothes and venture out into the street. Typical, no response from the people I was going to meet. Fuck it, I'm up now anyway. Its cold real cold… fortunately I run into my friend Clare on the street. We search for a cab to no avail, shit gets frustrating as both of us become confused and both have no credit. Clare buys some and we call a cab. It doesn't come, though, fortunately we find one on the street. The journey to the beach takes some time as the roads are all frosty and it is a challenge for our driver to well, drive. We arrive at the beach fortunately on time and the sun hasn't officially risen. We make our way to the registration tent and get our towel and swimming cap. Though not in any formal line up people are preparing to go. We think, fuck that. Wait until we have to. Then, ah fuck it, let's do it. Off comes the clothes for the 300th time this festival though on this occasion I head toward the water. Fire pits are scattered around and quickly become a more importance to me than finding a meaningful relationship. Me and Clare attempt to make small talk with others but it’s hard as yep, it’s cold. Then we all make our way to the sand and are shuffled along. No one is looking at anyone’s bits here as we are all just worthless husks of flesh waiting for the knife to fall on any present or future sexual function. A few 100 deep from behind a group of monks begin to chant and then enter drums and we begin to scream, it’s essentially a war cry though the battle is the source of all life on this planet. Then we run towards our enemy with ferocity and no shame. Some flee early while the true take it to the end. As I progress, speech fades from my lungs as I struggle to breathe let alone move and then numbness. Initially it is uncomfortable but then it becomes almost pleasurable and a form of inner peace fills my mind and body. Clare appears to be on the same page. The battle can never be won, really it’s about how far you can take it and the gods on the beach decide that playtime eventually comes to an end. Back on land it’s like an optimistic death camp with no casualties. I'm still coated in glitter, it will never wash off. It takes seemingly a lifetime to return to clothes as each movement feels harder than the next. Clare good on you for buying credit, call a cab. No coffee shop we do not want ice-cream, we want shelter. Back home eating left-over feast delights and drinking a Milo from someone’s supply left in the backpacker kitchen. The Winter Solstice Swim, it’s a way of life.

This article is long enough and though in this conclusion I could quite easily make it longer, but for ease I will make this conclusion brief. This festival is unlike anything on offer in this country and debatably the world. Everything that felt like shortcomings from the fantastic year before have been addressed and it is with great pleasure and more considerable ease to announce that Dark Mofo is the best most unique and all-consuming festival on offer now and undoubtedly into the future. Don't read this and think, just go.

- Bradley Armstrong